


Grounded

by StuntzTheDude



Series: Grounded [1]
Category: Barbarians (TV 2020)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27747898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StuntzTheDude/pseuds/StuntzTheDude
Summary: Rome will not let go of Arminius so easily. In the nights after the Battle of Teutoburg Forest, he wakes and remembers—but Thusnelda is there to keep him on solid ground.
Relationships: Ari/Thusnelda, Arminius/Thusnelda, Arminius/Thusnelda (Barbarians TV 2020), Arminius| Ari/Thusnelda, Hermann der Cherusker | Arminius of the Cherusci/Thusnelda of the Cherusci (c. 10 BCE)
Series: Grounded [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033734
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Grounded

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Restricted Work] by [kettlepillow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kettlepillow/pseuds/kettlepillow). Log in to view. 



> Just like everybody else, I binge-watched all of Barbarians in one sitting and immediately fell in love with absolutely everyone. A very, very, VERY sincere thank you to kettlepillow and her work, Each Word a Shiver, that got so deep under my skin that I wrote my first FanFic in over ten years. This fic is set directly after hers, but could be read stand-alone. 
> 
> Edit: This is apparently the beginning of a series. More to come! A/U where I'm probably going to ignore Tacitus and the second season in some regards, so, take it with a grain of salt.
> 
> Let me know what you think!

He was blind with rote reaction—swinging, dodging, mindlessly cutting down anyone before him as he tried to get back—his horse had long since been killed beneath him as he’d tried to catch up to the others. He himself was wounded, maybe; he wasn’t sure where, but he could feel the heat of blood trickling beneath his cuirass. But now he stopped, unable to breathe or speak as his men were slaughtered around him, bodies and steel as far as he could see—his sword slipping from his hand and an unfamiliar sense panic rising through his chest as the blood around him rose until all he could smell was gore and burning, strangling his throat until he dropped to his knees, hands over his ears to drown out the screaming— 

“Ari!” 

He choked awake, eyes wild and unseeing but aware of the stiffness in his lungs as he desperately gasped for air. “Ari, it’s me,” a voice said, softer this time. Slender hands clasped around his own, attempting to pry them from the sides of his head. “Ari. Ari, you’re awake; you’re awake.” There was a pause. “Arminius,” the voice ventured, “breathe. I am here.” 

He tried to do as he was asked and reign in his breathing as his heart thudded in his ears, but he could still hear the screaming. The sharpening pain of his nails digging into his scalp did somehow make his head feel clearer but he could not will his arms to let go; he realized that he had shut his eyes and locked his jaw in an attempt to force himself to breathe slower through his nose. When he managed a few shallow, shorter breaths, he realized that the smell of blood was gone: what remained was something warmer and more familiar that he couldn’t place. When he spoke, he couldn’t manage much more than a whisper. “Úbi sum?!” 

“Ari, I don’t understand you,” the other voice said gently. The slender fingers that had been trying to pull his hands away loosened their grip, now clasping the sides of his face. Their thumbs ran across his cheeks, back in forth in a smooth rhythm and he realized that there was another body pressed against his. Slowly, he matched his breathing to the rhythm, attempting to drown out the last of the screaming with the rush of the air through his nose and the soft sounds of the hands caressing his face. “Ari, open your eyes,” the voice said again. “You’re here, with me, and we are in our home. The battle is over and won, we are together, and you are safe.” Just as he himself began to notice the tension in his muscles letting go, the hands moved from his face and again to his own and, gently but firmly, began to pull them away. He opened his eyes. 

Somehow expecting still to see the plastered ceiling of his room in Rome, or at the very least the roof of his tent, he blinked wide at the sight of Thusnelda leaning over him, her bronze hair falling over her bare shoulders and gaze firmly locked with his. The room was still quite dark, likely still long before dawn, but he took in the sight of the wooden ceiling beams with their familiar tapestries draped across them. Slowly, she guided his hands to his sides and returned hers to his face to again brush her thumb across his cheek while her other fingers ran gently through his hair. “Ari, you’re safe. All is well.” 

He breathed in once more as deeply as he could and willed his muscles to relax with his exhale, a bit more successful this time, and reflexively reached for his shoulder, somehow startled that it was dry and instead covered with only the small knot of a scar. His mouth was dry when he finally spoke. “Doleo me—” he swallowed, seeming confused by his own words, then shook his head. “I am sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry that I woke you.” 

“You had a nightmare, Ari, that’s all. It is over and done with,” Thusnelda said. Arminius shook his head. 

“It will be back.” He closed his eyes again and focused on the rhythm she was setting. “I don’t think it’s the same for your—our—people. The more of Roman war you see, the more of it you bring with you. You are never apart from it.” He opened his hands to grasp the bedding beneath him, doing his best to memorize its texture and the gauge weight of Thusnelda’s body above his, trying to listen for any sounds he could other than the sounds of war still echoing in his ears. “The silence after is the worst. When I am—was—on campaign, it was never so difficult; it is easy to keep it at bay with the patterns of your duties. But when you are left with just yourself…many of us nearly drowned in it, only trying to survive until Rome called us back to war. I’ve known a few who could not bear it. There were some moments that I...” he trailed off, clenching his jaw for a moment before continuing. “But Rome does not look kindly on a soldier who abandons his post.” 

Thusnelda above him watched the tension rebuilding in his jaw, but as she continued to run her fingers through his hair and trace the contours of his face, she was pleased to see him turn into her touch. “But now you’re awake, you’re here with me, in our home, in our village, and we are safe.” He took a shallow breath and nodded curtly. Thusnelda shook her head. Looking up at her with eyes too hollow and far-off was not the man that had led their people to victory against three Roman legions, but the boy she had seen stolen from her side as a child. As strong and composed he had become—the perfect citizen, the perfect officer, the perfect son—she could not fathom what horrors he had seen. “Well, it’s over now.” She smiled down at him and took his hand, bringing it to her face and kissing his worn palm. “Rome has no claim to you.” 

He let her trail kisses across his hand and fingertips, down his wrist as she caressed his chest, and any rebuttal he might have had died in his throat as the sensation of her touch washed over him. She traced around the bruises formed across his arms and his eyes wandered over hers in turn, most notably the deep violet, red, and gold imprints of hands still wound around her neck: being strangled was unpleasant, that was sure, but that Thusnelda was able to slay her attacker without the benefit of breathing made Arminius proud. The memories of the battle were falling into place. The smell of fire and encroaching fog, how his father— _No. Varus, not Pater,_ he corrected himself again—smiled at him with such pride for the last time as he turned away; the cold that gripped him as he retched and the hard stares of his officers behind him as he remounted in silence. Pulling aside as the march began again to rinse his mouth; how he took the moment to dip into his smuggled war paint and drag his fingers down his face in the way he remembered from his father. It did not dry beneath his helm as they rode onward. He did not meet the eyes of his enemies: men that had trusted him and that he in turn had trusted only weeks before. He stumbled to Thusnelda, body painted black and slick with sweat and blood, glorious and beautiful as she met his eyes with a relief that weakened his knees. Taking her face in his hands with trembling fingers to see her newly scarred cheek and bloodied eye, throwing his arms around her, never wanting to let her go should he be taken from her again. Through the last, in the rain, as he watched Varus kneel before him, hands and eyes straining as he drew Ariminius’s sword through his body, he was alone— 

“Ari.” Thusnelda’s voice cut through the building darkness and he realized that his breathing was again quick and shallow. He tried to remember the edges of his skin, listing and cataloguing what he could discern was real: the cool, still air around him, the furs beneath him, the weight straddled across his hips and the pressure on his chest, the warmth of skin beneath his hand and the heart that beat within it. He opened his eyes. 

Thusnelda was pressing his hand against her chest and pressing her own against his. Though they had hastily scrubbed off what paint and blood they could before they rode back to the Cherusci village he still saw small streaks of black and rust-brown in the creases of her ear and the recesses of her elbows. He wondered what he himself had missed. His limbs were still leaden with exhaustion and he felt the grit of salt from shed tears at the corners of his eyes. Again, he timed his breathing against the steady pulse of her heart. “Thusnelda, I don’t know how to stay...here.” He met her gaze as best he could. “I can’t focus on _here._ I am...” he trailed off, both unsure of what to say and unwilling to acknowledge it. 

“You are afraid.” He scrunched his eyes shut, only for a moment, before they shot open again, tears welling up and trailing down the sides of his face. Thusnelda sighed, reaching forward and wiping a few away. She ran her fingers through his hair and cupped his cheek. “You can be afraid if you must be. I can imagine that it is...difficult to adjust to your _own_ life, one that is not dictated by _Mother Rome_ ,” she finished, nearly spitting it. “I also know you will carry the burden of her with you, wherever you go. But I will be here, and I will help you find solid ground when you are in need.” She smiled. “You are the reik of the Cherusci. You are a man of honor who fought for the freedom of your people. Rome will never have you again. Above all, you are Ari.” She leaned forward, placing a kiss on his brow. “And I love you, and that is that.” 

Hearing her say the words, now only for the third time, made his heart catch in his throat. He had never thought he would see her again, much less hear those words from her lips. He then remembered the last night, her hands, her mouth—he could not stop the shiver that ran through him at the thought. And then, he remembered her confession. 

He took his hands from hers and rested one at the small of her back with the other splayed across her stomach, still nearly flat, but not for much longer. Of course the village would know the timing wasn’t right—they would also know exactly who the father really was. Thusnelda sighed and closed her eyes as she clasped her hands around his. 

“So you still feel the same? About...this? Us?” she asked as she looked down. A small smile came over his lips. He removed his hands and pushed himself up, kneeling to kiss her belly. 

“I will love you and your child until I die, Thusnelda, mine or not. Someday I will give you children, but this,” he kissed her again. “This child will be welcomed and will be loved. His father is honorable, as are you.” He rested his forehead against her, breathing in her scent and relishing in the way it stirred and centered him, making it easier to lay aside the remnants of his dreams. “And I will do my best to be a better father than either of ours were,” he finished with a wry smile. 

“You could be a hen and you’d be a better father. At least you’d provide food once a day.” He seemed startled by his own laugh and she pulled him down against her, wrapping her arms around him until their laughter subsided. Arminius breathed in the sweet, musky scent of her hair and threaded his fingers through it, gently working through the tangles, mimicking the way he had seen her do it before. Roman women did not wear their hair loose and now that they had married Thusnelda did not often do so either, but he was still in awe of it. He was mesmerized by the way her eyelids fluttered closed. 

“I had never thought I would be blessed to marry,” he said quietly. “Especially to one so exemplary as you.” Thusnelda snorted, playfully shoving his shoulder. 

“I’m ‘exemplary’? You hush; you’ve had your pick, I’m sure.” Ari looked away as he was suddenly very interested in the pelts beneath them, a slow blush crossing his cheeks. Thusnelda raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you had someone lined up, didn’t you? Or at least you’ve had someone...” He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came. “I mean you’ve clearly _had_ someone before.” 

“Of course I have!” Arminius said, too quickly. The memory of the night before he left for Varus was still fresh, but their mutual desperation and fear of losing each other had been the forefront of their minds, not pleasure. “I mean, I have, but I’ve never...I never planned to—it wouldn’t have been fair to a woman, I was always gone, and I...” 

Thusnelda pushed herself up on her elbows. “You’re saying that you’ve _never_ had a lover?” Ari shrugged, his blush furious. 

“It is not Rome’s ideal for a soldier to be married, much less Varus’s. But I have been with...professionals. A few. When I was younger. But...it’s been...” he sighed. “It’s been some time. I am sure you had guessed,” he finished quietly. 

Thusnelda looked back at him, shocked. Suddenly she couldn’t help the pity that welled in her chest for his years of loneliness or the renewed anger at Varus for keeping Arminius so firmly under his thumb. She sat up and took his face in her hands, guiding it back to hers. Slowly, he met her eyes. 

Arminius’s breath was tight as he looked back at her, her gaze unreadable. Why did he feel so ashamed? He knew that he had made the right decisions devoting his life to his military service instead of a woman; he would not force someone to be shackled to a man she’d never see while he was away campaigning, if he came back at all. But, at the age of twenty-five (and a Prefect, no less), he should have been more...experienced. It wasn’t like he hadn't had opportunities. But lying here with his _wife,_ who he had only even lain with _once_ when both of them were half expecting he’d be to going to his death; knowing that the child she carried—a babe he knew he would gladly raise as his own—was begotten before he had even returned to Germania, made him acutely aware of everything he was not. 

Finally, Thusnelda smiled, brushing her fingers through his short hair. He shuddered at the sensation of her fingers across his skin, lips parting with a ragged breath in spite of himself as she trailed her fingernails down his cheek, his neck, and ghosting down his bare chest and tracing the edges of scar forming from the axe wound in his side. He could not break her gaze as she then pressed against his shoulders, settling him onto his back. Finally, she looked away, surveying him laid bare before her, splayed across the tangle of the bed and he watched her gaze wander over him. He was becoming acutely aware of the direction his blood was flowing and suddenly felt…shy? Of course nakedness was a part of his life, especially in military life; as high ranking as he was, there still weren’t many boundaries that could remain in place. But as she seemed to take in every inch of him, he prayed to whatever gods were listening that she didn’t find him lacking. As her eyes lingered and his own began to roam over her, he drank in all he could: lit in the soft relief of their dying fire with hair wild and head held high, her body was still strong though he was sure she was still as exhausted as him. _Varus_ _had been right about one thing, at least,_ he thought. _Should Diana ever_ _choose_ _to walk among men, she would do so as Thusnelda_. He lifted his hand to touch her but stopped short. 

Thusnelda shook her head with a small smile and took it, guiding it to glide over her thigh, searching his face, seeming to make sure that his breath had calmed and shoulders had loosened. When she finally spoke, her voice rang softly. “Do not be afraid. I am here.” He nodded, eyes pleading. “Ari.” She squeezed his hand. “You are deserving, and time will bring you healing. You must just be patient. We will get there.” She leaned forward, her hair curtaining back over her shoulders, and she kissed him. 

There was something in the kiss that Arminius could not place; a tenderness that he had never felt before, strong but gentle, that reacted to him as he returned it. She was right, he _was_ here—here in their hut in their village, where he was free of a general, free of the man he had blindly trusted as a father, free to look and act how he wanted, to fight for what he wanted just as well as rest when he needed. His responsibility was not to Rome and Caesar above all, it was to himself and his tribe. It was also to Thusnelda and the child they would welcome, perhaps come spring: a spring he would have to himself, not to be called to battle in some alien land where Rome was busy swallowing new nations and killing other people like them. 

Gradually, their kiss deepened, and Arminius found himself gripping tighter and tighter to her thigh, tangling his fingers in her hair and crushing her face to his, both of them desperate for the closeness, but as they came up for air, Thusnelda saw the glint of feverish nerves in his eyes. She pulled away with a small smile. “If you don’t want—” 

“No.” He traced her jaw with the tips of his fingers. “I just want...” he stopped, choosing his words. “I want to thank you.” Thusnelda nodded, her hands now tracing down his arms. 

“Do not do anything you don’t want to do, Ari. Not for my sake, do you understand?” He nodded. 

With a sudden sureness, he slid his hand upwards across her torso, then onto her chest, where he cupped her breast and he brushed his thumb over her nipple, eliciting a slow breath from Thusnelda as she sat above him, still and watching. He marveled as it hardened beneath his fingers, and his other hand slid up her side to cup her buttocks, gripping tightly. Thusnelda let out a breathy moan. 

Emboldened, he leaned up and pulled her higher, burying his face in her bosom and kissing down the plane of her chest beneath her collarbones. His head swam as he held her and he felt his arousal suddenly hot, but he tried to ignore it as he wrapped his hands around her sides, trying not to grip so tightly that he hurt her as he stopped to reign in his breath and collect himself. Before he had the thought, however, he found his lips kissing across her bare breast, and he had not realized he had taken her nipple into his mouth until she arched her back and moaned his name. He sucked, amazed at her reaction, and found his other hand playing across her other breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers. Suddenly he had pressed her to her back as he kissed and nipped at all the skin he could reach, realizing (with some satisfaction) that he left behind small marks—but it was her whimpers and searching hands that urged him on as he kissed back up her sides, her breasts, her chest, her tender neck, and then her face, lingering over her lips. He was shaking and as he shifted, he felt his cock brush against her, but as he moved between her legs, she put a hand on his shoulder and shook her head. He made a noise of frustration, meeting her eyes. 

“Tell me,” he breathed, his voice thin. “Tell me what you want, I will do anything you ask.” There was a wicked gleam in Thusnelda’s eye as she pushed his shoulders down, guiding him to kiss down her torso until, _Oh, I see_ _._ Arminius stopped. He looked up at her, pleading. “Nelda, I have never—this is not done in Rome.” 

“I grieve for the lives of Roman women,” she said dryly, but she reached forward and caressed his cheek with a small smile. “You will do just fine. I will guide you.” Still looking into her eyes, he was caught off guard when he felt her fingernails rake across his back, but it was enough to make him forget any fear he might have had—he let out a low growl and kissed her again, down her right side to her hip and the top of her leg. He kissed up her thigh finally reaching the crook of her hip, kissing the pressure points at the edges of her pelvis (he was pleased when it elicited reaction he was hoping for) and nipping the skin gently as he relished each shiver that went through her. Winding his arms beneath her hips he lifted her up until only her shoulders touched the bedding, her legs spread and hanging loose over his shoulders. He could feel his own arousal, so hard it was almost painful, but as he buried his nose into her curls Thusnelda gasped, hands suddenly on his in a crushing, desperate grip. He experimentally ran his tongue through her folds and he groaned into her, amazed at her taste—so unlike anything he had ever experienced, and suddenly he could focus on nothing else, not even the throbbing ache between his legs. He gripped her hips tighter and shuddered at the noise she made, repeating the motion—licking once again before sucking on her clit, prying his right arm away from her and balancing her thigh on his shoulder. He separated her folds with his fingers and ran his tongue across her smoothness, burying himself as deep as he could as Thusnelda’s fingers now raked across his shoulders, mewling, eyes locked on his as he devoured her. He registered a strange, far-off pain sending shocks through him as she wound her fingers tight in his hair, guiding his head and tongue, her weight on his shoulders the only thing keeping him in place. Tentatively, watching her gaze, he released his fingers from her folds and slowly slid one into her. She gasped and dug her nails into his neck. Assured, he tried a second one, this time returning with his tongue, licking and sucking as his fingers worked, massaging her inside and out. “More,” she breathed, and he obliged, working her deeper. She began to tense around him and her thighs were slowly tightening, her legs wrapping around his back as he felt her building, pulling him deeper and harder against her until finally, she could take no more. Arminius tried not to be startled by her heels digging into his shoulders, her walls clenching impossibly tight around his fingers, and the strangled cry that could have been his name escaping her lips, but as she began to loosen, he kissed her one last time and returned his hand to her hip, steadying her. He drank in the sight of her, hair spilling across the pelts and blankets of their bedding, chest heaving, lips and cheeks flushed as she rose her hand towards him. He took it, guiding it to his cheek and kissed her palm as he panted against her. “Nelda?” She dropped her leg from his shoulder and let herself fall, but he suddenly felt weightless, ungrounded and out of place without the pressure of her body holding him down. 

He settled to his knees, bracing his hands on either side of her. “Nelda, did I…” she shook her head and drew him down to her, her lips suddenly soft against his. As she guided his mouth open and ran her tongue across his, he didn’t register the touch of her fingers down his stomach until they grazed his length, resting on the tip of his cock. His startled moan was swallowed by their kiss as he thrust against her hand, all composure lost as his body moved of its own accord. Agonizingly slowly she began to stroke him, every small noise he made stifled by her lips. He clung to her, wild and blind, until he felt his tension slowly building. “I—Nelda, my—” he started, hand shooting up and clasping her shoulder as he tried to stave it off. “I need you, Nelda, I heed to have you now.” 

“Then have me.” Thusnelda pulled away abruptly, resting back against the bed. He followed and crouched over her, throwing her leg over his shoulder once again and lining up with her entrance, grinding the head of his cock against her clit for one excruciating moment before he couldn’t take it any longer. 

Slowly, he pushed himself into her; holding tightly onto what little reserves of his own will he still had as she gasped, taking in his whole length at once. “Deus meus,” he breathed, her body so tight around him he could not bear to move for a moment lest he forget all his self-discipline. He took a long, deep breath as he grasped her thigh against his chest, running his other hand up the length of her body until he met her cheek. Their eyes met and he drew a shallow breath, barely able to speak the words, “Te amo, amica mea.” She smiled and tightened herself around him, earning a shudder that wracked his whole body, his hips bucking forward reflexively before he could hold back. 

“Te amo,” she replied. Hearing the language he had called his own on her tongue undid him. He gripped her shoulder, leveraging himself against her and before he could think, he was moving against her. 

At first, it was almost gently as he relished every inch of him feeling every inch of her, but it wasn’t long before he forgot to restrain himself: he thrust deeper, harder, drawn on by the pleading in her voice for “More, more, more, Ari, more, I love you, te amo, I love you,” as he replied in kind, not sure what language he was speaking, but sure she understood just the same. Thusnelda gripped any part of him she could reach: arms, neck, finding his hips and guiding his rhythm, pulling him harder against her with each thrust. 

He could feel his legs shaking as he realized that he was close. “Thusnelda, I am—” she met his eyes and he lifted her up, and as Thusnelda threw her arms around him and crushed her lips to his, he tumbled over the edge with her name in his throat and the far-off echoes of her voice repeating _I love_ _you,_ _I love you, I love you_ —the chorus repeating it like a prayer as they rode out the waves of their euphoria. As the final few spasms of his orgasm wracked his body, he could not hold her any longer: he was startled when his hands slid from her sides and she held tighter to him, his body sagging into her embrace. 

Thusnelda held him, cradling his head against her chest as she listened to his breath steadily slow and deepen. She traced circles on his back with her free hand and was pleased by the small sound he let out at the lightness of her touch, and she realized that again, there were tears in his eyes. She tilted his face up to hers, running her thumb across his cheek. She leaned over and kissed his brow, taking his head in both hands and watching his eyes come into focus on her. “I love you, Ari. You are here with me, and I will not let you go.” 

His lips parted and, for a moment, he could not remember any words to speak with: not in his mother tongue, not in Latin, not any snatch of phrase he had learned throughout his travels besides. Finally he managed to speak, his voice hoarse and low. “I love you, Thusnelda.” She leaned in and her lips met his, sending one last shock through his body as she laid them back against their bedding, the first cool rays of dawn illuminating their home. Wind was shuffling the thatching on their hut; there was a pop from the last coals of the fire. He felt the itch of growing stubble on his chin. He breathed deeply, focused on the feeling of solid ground beneath him as he laid in her arms, and he smiled. _Yes, I am here._


End file.
